P h o e n i x R i s i n g
by zeroxii
Summary: A closer look at Mitsui's comeback. CHAPTER 2 UP! Tetsuo in focus. Please read and review!
1. New Friends

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Standard disclaimers apply. 

Note: 

I tried my hardest not to make up an original character, but I really needed a journalistic type of person for this fic and it didn't make sense to use the ones already existing in Slam Dunk. Hikoichi and his sister focus more on Ryonan, and Kawai Mari from Shohoku's broadcasting club is plain annoying. Hope you like the OC! 

"I don't care what you say," Miyagi said stubbornly, putting two bowls of rice on his tray. "The Sixers _will_ make the playoffs."

"You're just saying that because you worship Allen Iverson," I told him, helping myself to a serving of tonkatsu.

Surprised you, didn't I? I thought as I caught most of the people in the cafeteria staring at us. _Me, Miyagi Ryota, and no bloodshed. What is the world coming to?_

Up until last week, the only time Miyagi and I spent together was when we were at each other's necks. Heck, up until last week, I wouldn't be caught dead in a cafeteria. Lunch with the gang meant ramen from the takeout place on Watanabe Avenue and a few cigarettes afterward. Skipping school had come more easily than – than brushing my hair.

I reached up and raked my hand through my new cut. I hadn't worn my hair this short since I was in junior high. 

A voice that sounded like it could wake the dead interrupted my thoughts.

"Ryo-chin! Mitchy!" Sakuragi yelled, waving like a madman from the far side of the cafeteria. "We've saved you seats!"

I didn't have to look at Miyagi to know his face was as red as mine. "Trust that baka to broadcast our embarrassing new nicknames to half the school population," he grumbled.

Meanwhile, the lady at the cash register was glaring at us. "Ahem. You're holding up the line."

"Gomen, gomen," Miyagi said quickly.

We paid for our food and walked over to the basketball club's usual table. The stares followed our every movement. Maybe they were waiting for us to snap and start fighting like we used to. I was tempted to snarl at the cafeteria in general.

Get used to it, Hisashi. You're a jock again. You have a jock's haircut. You eat at the jock table with your jock buddies.

Of course, Shohoku's basketball players didn't look like your typical jocks, I thought as I sat down next to Sakuragi, who was wolfing down his food like there was no tomorrow. With his flaming red hair, motormouth Sakuragi stood out like a sore thumb. Not to mention that he was accident-prone. Just looking at him made you laugh.

Miyagi was small and quick, perfect for a point guard. But, man, was he cocky. The first day I saw him with that swagger, that smug smile and that ridiculous earring, I wanted to punch his face in. 

And I did. Repeatedly.

Next to Miyagi sat pretty boy Rukawa, who sleep-biked to school every morning. How he got from one place to another in one piece was beyond me.

Akagi was probably the only one who actually looked athletic, with his huge build and imposing height. But whereas most athletes were fun-loving and happy-go-lucky, Akagi was the epitome of a wet blanket if there ever was one. 

I noticed the half-eaten food beside Akagi's as I unwrapped my chopsticks. "Hey, where's Kogure?"

"Megane-kun's flirting with some girl." Sakuragi showered me with bits of rice as he spoke.

"Keep your regurgitated lunch off me," I complained, wiping my face. Then the gravity of Sakuragi's statement sunk in. "What?"

"Kogure's over there." Akagi jerked his thumb to the right. "He's going over a physics problem with a classmate of ours."

"Oh," I said. Good old Kogure. He and Akagi would probably graduate with honors. I took a sip of my soda. 

"She's pretty," Rukawa observed.

I nearly spit out my soda. Rukawa making small talk? Rukawa actually noticing a girl? I had to see this for myself.

Holy shit.

--

I whistled to myself as I climbed the stairs to the second floor. My sports bag felt satisfyingly heavy. Only eight hours before the tryouts for Shohoku's basketball club.

"Anzai-sensei," I practiced saying. It had a nice ring to it. Before long, I would be training under a living basketball legend.

Life was good.

"Be damned if I ever figure this place out, though," I muttered under my breath. "Which one's my homeroom again?"

Year 1, Class 9, that was it. I made my way to the opposite side of the corridor.

"Mitsui Hisashi?"

A girl was walking toward me. She was coming from the direction of my classroom.

"That's me," I said uncertainly. _Was she in my class?_

I quickly took my right hand out of my pocket to shake her outstretched one.

Her grip was firm. "I'm Otani Yuna," she introduced herself. "This probably sounds strange, but I'd like to ask your permission to interview you for the school paper."

"Huh?" I was momentarily distracted. _No, she isn't in my class_, I decided, looking down at her dark, piercing eyes. Doe eyes. _I would've remembered her eyes._

She pushed her long, blue-black hair off her shoulder. "Actually, I'm not on the staff of the Shohoku _Herald_ – yet," she added. "I'm a freshman like you. I need to submit a sample article before the editors decide if they want me on board. I know you because I was a sports reporter in junior high, and I thought they'd be interested in reading your profile."

"But I'm not even on the team yet," I said, confused.

"Oh, you're already a legend as far as I'm concerned," she assured me. "Please please please?"

She looked at me hopefully. She had amazingly long lashes.

I smiled. "Let me just put my stuff down and you can ask me anything you want."

--

"Yuna-chan!"

I almost jumped out of my skin at the sound of Miyagi's voice.

Somehow, Yuna and Kogure had materialized at our table.

Not only did the editors of the _Herald_ want Yuna on board, they loved her article so much that they published it the very next week. From what I'd heard, that was quite a feat in itself. First years rarely got their articles published, especially not on the front page, and not on their first try. Not that Yuna didn't deserve it. She'd given me a copy of her story before she submitted it. I still had that copy in my desk at home.

Yuna tousled Miyagi's hair. "Hey, cutie. You better do well against Shoyo tomorrow."

"Are you going to be there?" Miyagi asked.

She nodded. "I'm covering it for the _Herald_."

"I thought you let your underlings do the legwork," Kogure teased her.

"I like keeping the big games to myself." Yuna grinned.

Sakuragi perked up. "You're a reporter?"

Akagi glared at him. "Otani Yuna is the sports editor for the Shohoku _Herald_. She's been covering our basketball 

games since we were in first year."

Yuna gave Sakuragi a melt-your-heart smile. "The famous Sakuragi Hanamichi, I presume?"

"Please don't encourage him," Rukawa mumbled.

Too late. "A ha ha!" Sakuragi looked like he was lit by a klieg light. "Of course! The tensai cannot help but be famous! NYAHAHAHAHA!"

I rolled my eyes. I didn't mind Sakuragi calling himself a genius. But it made my blood boil whenever he referred to himself in the third person.

"Famous for fouling out," Akagi growled.

Yuna laughed good-naturedly as Sakuragi sulked. "I'm sure you'll all do Shohoku proud."

Miyagi pulled up his sleeve and flexed his bicep. "You better believe it. I'm back and better than ever. Not to mention the return of Shohoku's own prodigal son here." He gestured across the table at me.

Yuna's eyes fell on me for the first time. "Mitsui?"

My mouth suddenly went dry. "I'm back," I managed to say.

"Didn't I tell you about it yesterday?" Kogure said to Yuna.

Yuna looked amazed. "I guess I didn't recognize him right away… Still remember me, Mitsui?"

What a question. "Sure do," I said. "You really took me by surprise then."

"Explain, please," Sakuragi demanded.

"I interviewed Mitsui when we were in first year," she said.

Sakuragi looked at me disdainfully. "Mitchy? But he's so boring! You should interview me, tensai."

"Do, ahou." That was Rukawa, of course. I wholeheartedly agreed.

"Good luck tomorrow, Mitsui," Yuna told me. "Knock 'em dead."

Miyagi sniffed. "He almost knocked _me_ dead last month – ow!"

"Sorry," I said, smiling sweetly across the table at him. "My foot does that sometimes."

My jock buddies were going to be the end of me. 

END CHAPTER ONE

Feedback much appreciated! And if anyone knows what class Mitsui was really in as a freshman, or which junior high Mitsui (was it Furyouu or Takeishi?) or Ryota came from, please enlighten me! Thanks.


	2. Old Friend

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READ ME FIRST 

Disclaimer time: I'm perfectly aware that I do not own Slam Dunk and never will, therefore I must content myself with fanfic. This chapter contains excerpts from "The Road Less Traveled" by Robert Frost – which, obviously, I do not own, either.

Thank you so much for the reviews! Keep 'em coming! And if you're wondering why Yuna, a sports editor, was surprised to see Mitsui back (it's already well into the season and he _has_ been playing a lot), I'll be clarifying that soon. Maybe after another chapter or two.

This chapter is a huge about-face from the previous one in terms of mood. Not much humor here, I'm afraid. But give it a shot!

This ENTIRE CHAPTER is from Tetsuo's POV (can't do a Mitsui series without this fellow), but the next will focus on Mitsui again. Major OOC warning. But I do hope you like Tetsuo like this. I've always thought he was a big baby, judging from how emotional he can get cheering for Mitchan. 

--

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Chapter 2

Old Friend

My best friend and I had always been inseparable. He'd been there for me whatever life slapped me, whatever the Fates threw my way. He was there with me through it all. He made the pain go away, made me feel invincible.

Good old Philip Morris. I knew I could count on you.

I took a long drag of my cigarette and exhaled, watching the smoke as it rose and dissipated into the night. There was a chill in the air, unusual for the summer. The sky was shot through with stars.

I chuckled to myself, tapping my cigarette against the edge of the bench I was sitting on to dislodge the ash. And here I thought I had no poetry left in me.

I wasn't always like this. I hadn't always been the chain-smoking gangster I was now, whose name struck fear throughout Kanagawa. I used to be normal – if by normal I meant someone who wrote poetry and was into gardening. But after Daisuke… I found another outlet for my emotions. Namely via my fist.

All right, I was still a softie at heart. I was probably the biggest softie on the gang. _Good thing Mits did that sobbing thing in front of that Buddha geezer awhile back – nobody remembered finding that copy of _Wuthering Heights _in my backpack after _that.

Although, of course, Mits wasn't a part of the gang anymore.

Mitsui had been a big basketball star – he'd certainly been famous in _my_ neighborhood. People thought he was the greatest thing since Astro Boy. But when he showed up in our alley with a limp and a hard, bitter look on his face, we just welcomed him in, no questions asked.

Mitchan and I never talked about the things that counted. We were best friends, but not because we shared a lot. It was the macho thing to do, an unspoken agreement I was grateful for because I didn't have to explain myself. 

Mitchan never said so, not in as many words, but somehow I sensed that he would never be completely finished with basketball. It was too much a part of him. It was his lifeblood, coursing through his veins. Without it, Mitsui Hisashi had no focus, no center. It left him so numb and listless that the only way he could validate his existence, the only way he could feel the smallest semblance of _life_, was through connecting his fist with someone else's jaw.

Now Mitsui was back from the dead. And I was happy for him. Not as happy as I thought I should be, though -- not because he left the gang to face his fears, but because I knew I didn't have the courage to do the same.

I stubbed out my cigarette and got up. Maybe a walk would do me good…

The moon shone on the treetops, outlining every leaf. It reminded me of poetry.

--

__

Four years ago 

I pulled my windbreaker tighter around me and tried to shift my weight without banging my spine against the molded plastic chair I was sitting on. Argh. Was it even humanly possible to be comfortable in a molded plastic chair? Why were hospitals bent on buying out the entire molded plastic chair industry? Anyone in a hospital deserved more luxury than a molded plastic chair.

I stared at the open book in front of me. I've read it thousands of times before, but today none of the words made sense to me. They were just black squiggles to look at while I tried to not to think of anything, least of all what Daisuke was doing on the hospital bed with an I.V. in his arm.

"Oniichan."

My head snapped up. Daisuke was awake and whispering hoarsely.

"Yes?" I said softly. He was so thin, so pale. His head gleamed bare under the harsh lights.

"What are you reading?"

"Robert Frost," I answered.

"Would you… would you read to me?"

"Of course," I said. My voice caught in my throat.

I pulled my chair closer to the bed and began to read. 

__

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long as I stood

And looked down one as far as I could 

To where it bent in the undergrowth._"_

I glanced at Daisuke. His eyes were closed and his breathing was still shallow, but he was smiling.

My chest tightened painfully, but I read on. _Oniichan… I'm here. I can't make you better, but… but I'm here._

Daisuke was only six years old. Six-year-olds were supposed to go to kindergarten and play on the jungle gym. It wasn't fair. 

"_Yet, knowing how way leads to way, I doubted_ _if_ _I should ever come back_," I continued. I was reciting from memory because the words had suddenly blurred in front of me.

"Oniichan… can you hold my hand?" Daisuke said sleepily. His lips moved slowly and his eyes were still closed.

I put the book down, reached out and clasped his hand tightly. It was cold and small, insubstantial. I felt like a block of ice had settled in my stomach and had started to grow.

__

"I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence…

Daisuke's eyes fluttered open. He looked at me, his face peaceful. Ethereal. Like an angel. "When you grow up, you'll be a famous poet. Like Mr. Frost."

"Yeah?" My eyes were moist. "What about you? What will you be when you grow up?"

"I'm going to play basketball," he said. "I'll be great…"

I nodded, trembling. "You'll be the best."

He smiled serenely. "Yeah… I'll be the best… Just like, just like… Like Mitsui Hisashi…"

I smiled back, and reached to stroke his cheek. Daisuke snuggled up to my hand, warming my palm with his breath.

I finished the poem, from memory. "_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one less traveled by…"_

My hand grew cold. The tears I didn't know were there dropped unto the sheets, making damp little circles against the white linen.

__

"…And that has made all the difference."

END CHAPTER 2

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Phew! Finally got that one out of my system. So, whaddya think? Please review! I've got Chapter 3 on paper already. I'll post it as soon as I get more time on my hands.


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